


That Perfect Beat

by merle_p



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: 1980s, Aging Character, Canon Gay Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Coda, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends, Established Relationship, Fan Soundtracks, Female Friendship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Glitter, London, Multi, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A party after Pride 1985: Old friendships are renewed, feelings expressed, and new doors opened. Warm and fuzzy emotions, with a hint of bitter-sweetness, and a 1980s playlist. </p><p>(Or: The world's longest coda)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Perfect Beat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a story about fictional characters as they are portrayed in the movie "Pride." They are not meant to have any connection to any real existing persons whose names they may share. 
> 
> The title is taken from a song of the same name by Bronski Beat, the headliners at the Pits & Perverts event.

**[Dancing in the Street – David Bowie and Mick Jagger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9G4jnaznUoQ) **

Another Pride after-party at Gethin's, and Joe can hardly believe that he's back – that night, only a year ago, now seems a lifetime away. This time, he is not calling his mother furtively from a phone booth across the street, instead has an arm slung around Mike as they head up the stairs, Steph in tow. 

"Here," Gethin presses a stack of paper cups into his chest as soon as he gets into the door, "would you mind taking those into the living room? And could you tell Reggie, when you see him, to put the keg in the kitchen this time? Last year we had a massive mess to clean up under the sofa."

"No problem," Joe says reassuringly and pats Gethin's shoulder, and Gethin exhales slowly and smiles gratefully before heading back to the kitchen. Someone has put on a Culture Club record, and Joe hums along as he sets off in search of Reggie and Ray. 

It's not just Joe who has changed, he realizes as he enters the living room, where the dining table has been pushed against the wall to make more space in the center of the room: The party is a bit different from last year's as well. 

Most of the miners have taken the bus back to Wales after the march, and a few are staying for the weekend in hotels in the city; but some of them, the loyal core, have stuck around to celebrate. Jeff is entertaining four small girls in a corner by letting them put make-up on him, Carl and Gary seem to be in deep discussion with one of the drag queens from the march, Gwen and Hefina have occupied the sofa with Stella and Zoe. 

Some of the regulars are taken aback by the strange mix, Joe can tell. Right behind him, someone mutters: "Great, now the straight are starting to take Pride away from us, too," and he is still trying to come up with something to say when he hears Jonathan respond, annoyed: "If you aren't happy, you can fuck off. There's plenty of other parties around London tonight." 

Joe turns around and grins at Jonathan, who raises his brows at him in return. "What?" he grumbles. "We are providing the place and the beer, I would think that entitles us to invite the people we fucking want to be here."

Joe shrugs, grinning wider. "Oh, nothing. I just remember you saying something very similar to Dai about a year ago."

"Yeah, well," Jonathan says, looking a bit embarrassed, but he's smiling, too. "A lot can happen in one year."

 

**[ Lean on me – The Redskins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdKJ7DKffMs%20) **

"So what did I miss while I was gone?" Mark asks. He's sought out Mike in his quiet corner of the kitchen, or as quiet as any place can be in a tiny flat so full of people they might as well be sardines in a can. 

Mike shrugs and revels in the way their shoulders touch slightly when he moves. It still feels a bit awkward, being around Mark after not talking to him for months, but God, it's so good to have him back. 

"You mean, aside from the regular LGSM orgies we were having in the backroom downstairs?"

Mark stares at him, mouth open. Mike can tell that he wants to call him out on his shit, only he isn't completely certain that he is joking, and that's too good an opportunity to miss out on. 

"Of course, Steph couldn't really be convinced to join in, although we did extend an invitation. It's not like there weren't enough toys going around for her to work with. But Bromley is a fast learner. I certainly haven't had that much exercise in years, I can tell you that."

He struggles to keep a straight face, and Mark rolls his eyes and elbows him in the ribs, albeit fairly gently. "Stop taking the piss," he says, disgruntled. "Now it'll take me months to get that image out of my head." He turns his head away. "Besides, I don't remember you being this crude before I left."

"Yeah, well," Mike says. Part of him is desperate to wave it off, not dwell on what was, but the last couple of months have been miserable, and the memory of Mark's angry goodbye still hurts. At the very least, he owes him this conversation. "We didn't just freeze and stop living while you were gone."

"I know. I'm sorry." Mark frowns, looking guilty and upset. "I really was a prick to you."

"Yes, you were," Mike says, and then, with more emotion in his voice than he's strictly comfortable with: "Jesus, Mark, you had us worried! I did try and get a hold of you after a month or so, you know? Gethin kept asking around at the shop. Everyone seemed to be convinced that you'd left the country. You couldn't have sent a postcard sometime, to let us know you were still alive? What the bloody hell happened?"

Mark looks down at his hands, fingers spread wide as if he's trying to make sure there's still five of them on each hand. "I got scared," he finally says. 

"Yeah, I figured that much," Mike says, a bit more gently, because an unhappy Mark is one of his least favourite things on Earth, and he already feels bad for shouting. It's a weakness he's long made his peace with. 

Mark is still not looking up. "It was just – LGSM was over, the strike was over, I didn't know what to do with myself, and Mike, I just got so scared." 

"What were you so afraid of?" Mike asks.

Mark hesitates. "Life," he finally says vaguely, and Mike decides not to pry, although he has his suspicions.

"So what changed?" he asks instead, because that one at least he deserves an answer to. 

Mark grimaces at his hands. "I thought being alone would help me clear my head," he says slowly. "But then I realized that not having you around was even more terrifying."

"Christ, Mark," Mike says. Mark looks at him then, with so much raw emotion in his eyes that Mike can't help it: His arms come up around him, and Mark just falls into him, hugging him back. They stay like that for a while, and even when they break the embrace, Mark stays sort-of curled up into his side, and Mike keeps an arm around his shoulder. 

"Now what?" Mark asks weakly, and Mike thinks that the concept of Mark Ashton not having a plan is too terrifying to consider for long, so he merely squeezes his shoulder tightly and shrugs. "I don't know, we'll go look at the noticeboard tomorrow, and find you a new project to get involved in. Weren't you interested in doing something with the Switchboard? Are you still working with the Young Socialists? How about we open a shelter for gay dogs?" 

Mark laughs helplessly, and keeps his head tucked under Mike's chin. At least he sounds like himself again, and Mike feels as if the massive weight that has been squeezing his heart for the last four months is finally removed from his chest. 

In a rare bout of courage, he presses a kiss on the top of Mark's head. "You know I love you," he says, casually, and Mark shifts closer and nods, his short hair tickling Mike's throat. 

"I know," he says, quietly, into the collar of Mike's shirt. "I know."

 

**[ Sisters are doin' it for themselves – Eurythmics & Aretha Franklin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drGx7JkFSp4) **

"Hi," Zoe says, smiling hesitantly. She looks nervous, twisting her hands together in front of her chest. 

Steph is leaning in the window facing the street, letting the night air cool her face. She had gone to get another beer from the fridge, but Mike and Mark looked like they were having a moment in the kitchen, so she decided to smoke a cigarette instead. 

"Hello," she responds, with some apprehension. They haven't really spoken since their fallout at the Pits & Perverts gig, and Steph isn't entirely sure where they stand. 

To be honest, she still doesn't understand how they got there. She used to like Zoe and Stella, before they left LGSM – hell, she still does. And it's not even that she couldn't understand where Stella was coming from, how their group dynamic might seem unbalanced to someone a bit more resistant to the force of nature Mark can be. She just wishes that Stella had fought a bit harder to change things within the group instead of starting her own organization. Truth be told, back then she simply felt abandoned, although she is starting to wonder if not Stella and Zoe thought exactly the same. 

But it's Pride, and they marched together today, and if Zoe is making an effort, she can bloody well try, too. 

"How are you?" she asks stiffly. She hates how politeness always makes her feel so much like a fake. 

"I'm good, I'm good," Zoe nods, and it's a relief to see that she seems just as awkward. "We moved to Bloomsbury in April, so we are just around the corner now, really." She bites her lip. "How are you? I heard Joe moved in with you."

"That's right," Steph nods. "It was meant to be only for a bit, but turns out it's actually nice to have company. We are looking for a bigger flat, though," she adds, "so if you hear anything …"

"I will keep an eye out," Zoe promises. "I know London is difficult. We spent months looking at places until we found something we could actually afford."

"Thanks," Steph says honestly. "I appreciate it. Not that our current situation isn't cosy, mind, but having someone over is very much out of the question, so it puts a bit of a damper on our sex lives." She grimaces. "Not that either of us has much of a sex life to speak of anyway."

"About that …" Zoe says, blushing faintly. "I meant to ask you - do you remember Linda?"

Steph frowns. Vaguely, she thinks she remembers a party maybe two years ago, long lashes and a pretty smile. "Dark hair, short, kind of femme?"

"That's her," Zoe nods excitedly. "She was a member of LAPC. She – she's been asking me about you for a while."

"Really?" Steph asks sceptically. "Come on." She is not insecure, she tells herself, merely realistic: From what she remembers about Linda, she didn't seem like the type to go for sarcasm and orange mohawks. 

"I'm serious," Zoe insists. "She's seen you around, and – to be honest, she was a bit disappointed when she joined LAPC and realized that you were still with LGSM. And I was thinking – maybe we could all have a pint together at the pub next week? I could introduce you, and – it would be nice to see you more often, you know?"

Steph stares. She doesn't even know what to say. 

"If you don't want to, that's perfectly fine," Zoe says hastily. "Maybe you've met someone already, and – I know we didn't part on the best of terms, so – but really, Linda's lovely, and I think you could be good together –" 

"Yeah," Steph says slowly. "Yes, that sounds – that sounds nice. I'd like that." She tries for a smile and thinks it must have come out okay, because Zoe beams and hugs her quickly. 

"Fantastic," she says. "That's wonderful. I'm so glad we are friends again. I want to find Stella and tell her, but I'll catch you later, all right?" 

"Sure," Steph nods, but Zoe has already disappeared. Steph takes a deep drag of her cigarette, and realizes that it has mostly burned down while they were speaking. After a moment of consideration, she stubs it out on the window sill and flings it into the street, but she stays at the window for a while longer, staring out into the night. 

She thinks of what Gwen said to her, in Onllwyn after Christmas, and laughs at herself. Forty-four years of love and itemhood? Somehow she still can't see that as something she's meant to have. But a bit of happiness, and someone to share it with? That, she thinks, she deserves. That, she is ready for. 

 

**[ Lullaby of London – The Pogues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPtw8Pl_fn0) **

He wonders if he should not have gone back to Wales with the others, after all. Hefina was adamant that he should stay, and after the nerve-wrecking and exhilarating experience of marching in the Pride, he'd felt daring enough to give in. Now, he questions his decision. Marching was familiar, that's something he knows, even if the people he was walking shoulder to shoulder with were a different crowd than he's used to. 

This kind of party, however, makes him feel out of place, in an existential way, deep down to his bones, makes him feel old and inadequate. There is music he has never heard before, and people wear T-shirts with slogans that mean nothing to him. Many are dancing, Gail and Sian the wildest of all, but in the corners, couples are coming together, kissing lazily, kissing passionately, in the semi-darkness of the flat, and he wonders what his life is going to be like from now on, how he can possibly go back to normal after this. Maybe if he'd never come here, he thinks, maybe if LGSM had never come to Wales, he would not have to live with the knowledge, the image, of what he's missed, of what could have been. 

"Are you all right?" 

Gethin sounds casual, but he looks at him in open concern as he offers him another beer. After a moment, Cliff reaches out to accept it, with a tilt of his head that could mean "thank you," or "yes, I'm all right," or "no, please, help." He is sure Gethin won't be able to tell, because he isn't quite so sure himself. 

"I saw you at the march today," Gethin says, after a pause, and Cliff lifts the beer can to his mouth so he can cover up the way his hands want to shake. There is no point in asking what Gethin is saying, or in denying what it means. It doesn't matter, he tells himself, Gethin won't judge him for this, but it doesn't change the fact that he is only the third person in the world to openly acknowledge Cliff's truth, the secret he's carried for so long, and it scares him to death. 

"That was a brave thing to do," Gethin says quietly. "Do you regret it?" 

He is not looking at Cliff anymore. He is leaning next to him against the wall, staring out into the crowd of people in his living room, and Cliff is grateful for that. 

"That I've done it, or that I didn't do it sooner?" he asks finally, because he figures if Gethin makes the effort to talk to him, at least he can try and respond in kind. 

Gethin laughs quietly and shrugs. "Either, I guess," he says. "Or both."

Cliff thinks about it for a while. "My brother knew," he finally says. "He knew and he didn't care, and I always thought that was enough. But he has been dead for so long. And seeing all this – maybe I should have – maybe I'm just a coward."

"No," Gethin protests urgently. "You are not a coward." He turns to look at him, puts a hand on Cliff's arm, and Cliff acutely feels the warm weight of his palm through the heavy tweed of his jacket. "You – God, you stuck it out there your whole life." He laughs, self-deprecatingly. "I'm the one who ran away when I was barely twenty, and then spent the next sixteen years hiding."

Cliff looks at him carefully. "Do _you_ regret it?"

Gethin tilts his head, considering it. "To be honest," he finally says slowly. "There is surprisingly little I'm regretting these days."

"Good," Cliff nods, because it is. "That's good. You deserve it. Don't worry about me," he laughs quietly. "I'm just an old man."

Gethin shakes his head in dismay. "You are not – that's not how it works," he says. "Among friends. Please. Promise you'll let us know. If you ever need anything." 

Cliff nods. He doesn't think he would, can't really imagine picking up the phone and calling London when the darkness threatens to swallow him up. But Gethin sounds so insistent, like this actually matters to him, and he finds that he does not want to disappoint him. 

"I will," he forces himself to say, and it's worth it, if only to see the way it makes Gethin smile with something like relief. 

"Good," Gethin says. "Good. And by the way – welcome to London. I'm glad you came."

When he reaches out for a hug, Cliff can't help but turn stiff with shock – it's so unexpected that he can't do anything but stand still and feel Gethin's hands on his back, his breath against his ear. Eventually Gethin pulls back, and in one and the same movement, presses a gentle, careful kiss to his cheek. 

"I'll talk to you later, yeah?" Gethin says, as if nothing happened, and pats his arm in a simple friendly gesture. Then he is gone. 

 

**[Girls just wanna have fun – Cindy Lauper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIb6AZdTr-A) **

"Can I tell you a secret?"

They are taking a break from dancing, still out of breath from the last song. Sian feels hot and pleasantly drunk. It's one of those nights where everything seems possible, and unimaginably light. 

Gail is pissed as well, but not so much that she doesn't throw her a suspicious look over the rim of her glass. She's switched from beer to scotch a while ago. 

"Is it a good secret, or a bad secret?" she asks apprehensively, and Sian feels guilty for making her worry. They've had too many bad news during these last few months. 

"A good secret," she says, and Gail immediately perks up. "Tell me then," she says, leaning in, even though the music is so loud that no one would be able to hear them if they yelled. 

"I'm starting college in autumn," Sian says, feeling her mouth curve into a smile automatically as she says the words out loud. "I've enrolled at Swansea University."

Gail stares at her, mouth open. "You are serious?"

Sian nods, excited. "For a degree in Welsh language."

"What – what did Martin have to say about it?" Gail asks. Her whisky glass is tilted dangerously, and Sian reaches out a gentle hand to steady her arm. 

"He says he wants me to be happy," she says. "And if anyone can do it, it's me."

Gail nods, as if she didn't expect anything else. "I'm very happy for you, Sian," she says, and she sounds honest, but her smile is a bit wistful, too. Sian puts an arm around her waist. 

"I'm not abandoning you," she says. "We are still going to dance at the Welfare Hall on Friday nights."

Gail nods shakily, but then she straightens and gives Sian a determined look. 

"I'm going to tell you a secret, too," she announces, and abruptly breaks into a wide grin, already back to the cheerfully mad drunk Sian is more familiar with. "Last time I was in London, I snogged Steph."

Sian lets out a squeak of surprise. Of all the things she would have guessed, this was not one of them. She looks around quickly, but no one seems to have noticed her outburst, and she can see Stephanie leaning against the window on the other side of the room. "Seriously?" she asks, more quietly, but in scandalized delight.

Gail nods. "After the Pits & Perverts ball." She giggles like a teenager. "I pushed her against a wall, and I kissed her."

"How was it?" Sian asks, intrigued, and Gail shrugs. "I was plastered, it's all a bit blurry," she admits. "It was nice, though," she adds dreamily, and then giggles again. 

"So are you –" Sian gestures. She knows it would be a bit hypocritical to get worked up over the notion, but it's still difficult for her to wrap her head around the idea that Gail might be … 

Gail shakes her head. "Nah," she says. "I don't think so. It's just –" She lets her head fall back against the wall with a thump and downs the rest of her scotch. "Christ, Sian. I've danced with a man who is practically married to another man and hides pink dildos under his bed, and I've kissed a girl even though I'd never dreamt I would ever want to, and it's just made me feel – I've just missed so much, you know. I should have – I should have gone to college. I should have - shagged a couple of nice lads. Snogged my roommate. Smoked some grass. But I got pregnant so fast, and now?" She tilts her glass, grimaces when she realizes it's empty. "I think I'm going to ask for a divorce."

"A divorce?" Sian asks, trying to hide her shock. It's hard to imagine – even at times when she wants to hit Martin over the head with her frying pan, she never thinks of leaving him. But then, she isn't the one who has to clean up Aeron every time he pukes into the bathtub after a night at the Welfare Hall. 

Gail sniffs. "Maybe I'll move to London with the kids," she says. "I could get a job, right?"

"Of course you could," Sian says. She takes Gail's hand – the one that's not still sadly shaking the empty whisky glass – and squeezes tight. "Look, whatever happens. We'll get through it together, all right? We women have to stick together." 

"Bloody hell, we do," Gail says grimly, pressing Sian's hand in return. Then she pulls a face and raises her glass. "Christ, I need a fucking drink. Let's go find the scotch."

 

**[ Walls come tumbling down – The Style Council](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5HfOipwvts) **

Jeff is exhausted. He has screamed his lungs out at the march today, and then spent three hours playing beauty parlour with the kiddies until Hefina finally came to bring them upstairs for the night. He is slumped in Gethin's papasan chair, nursing the beer that Hefina brought him (bless her soul). He is ready for a bit of relaxation, a bit of dancing, maybe even a bit of snogging later on. 

He is certainly not ready for making small talk with one of Maureen's sons, of all people, but unfortunately, Johnny doesn't seem to have got the memo.

"Hello," Johnny says, stopping about a meter away from his chair, staring at him with something like fascinated timidity. Jeff is acutely aware that he is wearing lipstick, three shades of eye shadow and an awful lot of glitter. He probably needs to have a chat with young Rowena about the art of subtlety. Screw Johnny though if he thinks he can make Jeff feel uncomfortable in his friends' flat on the day of Pride. 

"Hello." He smiles lazily, and gives him a wink for good measure. 

Johnny looks vaguely terrified, but he doesn't back down, Jeff has to give him that. "I've wanted to - I've never been in London before. And I'm staying through the weekend, so. I was wondering if you could recommend. Places to see?" He breaks off abruptly. 

Jeff isn't sure if he should laugh hysterically or run screaming. "You are asking me for sightseeing tips?" he asks, incredulously. 

"Yes, uhm – Mark said you used to work as a tour guide? He said you might be able … uh, to help?"

"That's right," Jeff smiles widely, while imaging all the ways he is going to strangle Mark and his well-meaning attempts at reconciliation. Of course, since there is no way out of this now, he might as well go into the offensive. 

"If you want, I could show you around myself tomorrow," he says with his most winning smile, trying to sound as if this isn't an absolutely terrifying prospect. 

Johnny actually blushes. Jeff remembers, somewhat belatedly, that Jonathan has once called this expression his "come hither and fuck me silly" smile. But Johnny continues to surprise him.

"That would –" he takes a deep breath, then seems to come to a decision. "That would be great."

"Wonderful," Jeff smiles, and wonders what he's getting into. "It's a date. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and wash the glitter off my face."

To be honest, he mostly needs to find a quiet place to have his nervous breakdown in private, but that doesn't mean he can't do it with style. 

 

**[ What I like about you – The Romantics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rqnw5IfbZOU) **

"Hello there," Jonathan says, when Gethin finally sidles up to him again. "You all right?"

Gethin shakes his head as if he isn't sure. "I think," he says quietly. "I think Cliff just came out to me."

Jonathan nods, and finds that he is not surprised. "I saw," he says seriously, and dips his chin into the direction where Cliff is still standing against the wall, by himself once again. "That was very sweet of you."

Gethin sighs. "Christ, Jonathan, it's just – can you imagine? All this time, he's been -" He looks down, toying with the empty beer can in his hand. 

"Sometimes I get angry about things, you know," he says. He sounds almost ashamed to admit it, as if this is something Jonathan doesn't already know. "I get angry that I didn't meet you earlier. That we have this shadow looming over us all this time. But really, thinking about Cliff and –" he gestures into the room, at no one in particular. "It's made me wonder if we are not the lucky ones." He presses his forehead against Jonathan's shoulder. "Perhaps we are the lucky ones."

Jonathan laughs gently, and wraps an arm around him to pull him in. Gethin comes easily, melding against him, and Jonathan silently vows to do that in public more often. "Does that mean I don't have to worry that you are leaving me for a Welsh miner then?"

Gethin rolls his eyes at him. "Seriously?"

"No," Jonathan concedes. "I do sometimes wonder, though. Why you never kicked me out. Joe just reminded me earlier that I behaved like a bit of an arsehole around this time last year."

He doesn't say that he had his reasons. He knows Gethin understands that better than anyone. 

"It's because of your dance moves, mostly," Gethin says lightly. He is smiling faintly, although his eyes are serious. "And your talent for interior design."

"Ouch," Jonathan grimaces. "I feel objectified." He leans down to nuzzle Gethin's ear. "Maybe I need to remind you of some other things I'm good at."

Gethin shivers and looks at him with dark eyes. "Maybe," he says. "Didn't you tell me you had something shipped in on occasion of Pride?"

Jonathan groans. He's completely forgotten about that package. And now he won't be able to stop thinking about it. "Jesus. You don't think we could just kick everyone out right now, do you?"

Gethin laughs. "And make sure they know exactly what we're up to?" He swears under his breath, then looks at Jonathan from the side in a way that makes heat pool low in his stomach. 

"You know," he says, with a small, private smile. "The storage room downstairs is probably really quiet." 

 

**[ I'm your man – Wham!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6W0d9xMhZbo) **

"Hey, official photographer," someone says, right next to his ear. "You never called me back."

Joe turns his head to find himself looking at a familiar face. The bloke is grinning at him cheerfully, although his smile falters when Joe just stares, his mouth open. 

"You do – you do remember me, don't you?" the guy asks uncertainly, and that wakes him up. 

"I do," Joe hurries to insist. "Of course I remember you. The Pits & Perverts gig." How could he forget? He was Joe's first real kiss, his first – he was – "Uhm, I'm sorry, but what was your name again?"

The man laughs, self-consciously. "Patrick," he says. "It's Patrick. Sorry, I shouldn't –"

"No," Joe interrupts. "No, I'm sorry. I never called. I wanted to. But then – God, after that night. My parents found out I'm gay, and then I moved out, and I moved in with a friend, and another friend was in the hospital, and another friend disappeared, and LGSM fell apart, and –" 

"It's okay," Patrick says, with a smile that's a bit less nervous and more sympathetic. "It's all right. Sounds like you had a lot going on in your life."

"I did," Joe exhales. "I really, really did."

"And, look, I just saw you and wanted to say –" Patrick stops himself and blushes. "No, you know what, actually I came tonight hoping I'd see you. I just – no pressure and all, but really, I had – I had a good time, you know, the other night, and I did give you my number for a reason –" 

Joe cannot help it, there's laughter bubbling up in his chest. It's so bizarre, the thought that someone would actually come to this party, knowing he'd be here, just to see him again. The thought that someone is actually nervous about talking to him. He chuckles, laughs out loud, and then can't seem to get himself to stop. Patrick pauses and stares at Joe with a look of uncertainty. 

"Did I say something funny?" he asks, and Joe shakes his head and puts an apologetic hand on his arm. 

"I'm so sorry," he says. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear. It's just – you know, I just realized. I've spent the last months so busy working out how to be gay, I've not had any time to actually – you know, be gay."

He's afraid he's not making sense, but Patrick simply laughs, as if he understands exactly what he means. Then he turns serious, and gives him a careful look. "Well, provided that your life is a little bit less insane right now. Would you possibly be interested in – you know, being a bit more gay with me?"

Joe looks at his friendly, hopeful face, and realizes that he knows nothing about him, not even his last name. He does remember how it felt to kiss him, though, and how Patrick had been patient and gentle, and how desired, how wanted he had made him feel.

He takes a deep breath. "I would," he says, and means it. He laughs, then bites his lip, and watches Patrick track the movement with hungry eyes. "I really, really would."

The kissing is as good as he remembers, playful and wet and a little dirty, and his last conscious thought is that joining LGSM was certainly the best thing that's ever happened to him.


End file.
